


Convalescence

by Not_You



Series: Watching [9]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Oral Sex, Scars, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 21:20:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8939758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: Phil's chest is now an expanse of soft pink, with the hair starting to come back at the edges.  Clint traces those borders with gentle fingertips, and Phil shivers and sighs.  The only really shit thing is that Nick can't deal even a little.  He acts like even breathing on Phil's new scars is going to make them crack open and pour blood, and most of the time can barely even bring himself to look at them.  Given how fucked up he is about his own scarring, it kind of makes sense, but that doesn't mean it doesn't suck.





	

Clint is good at seeing things other people don't. This includes things that are too fast and things that are too slow, so he's keeping pace with Phil's healing. It's very steady, and Clint knows that the time is right when the bandages come off. Nick isn't quite so sure, and has to stalk out of the room and lurk somewhere while Clint holds Phil's hand and talks to him during the whole painstaking process. Poor guy can't help but be nervous, but Clint has been watching him. The visible skin is pink and healthy and clean, and so are the revealed brand new and baby-soft scars. They're fascinating and Clint wants to touch, but now is the time to the listen to the doctor so he can help Phil's continued recovery and so that he has some idea how much touching he can get away with.

Right at first he can get away with basically nothing. The skin is way too new, a pink that's ready to bleed at any moment. All Clint can do is put the salve on them and help Phil into the undershirt he uses to keep the goo off of his bathrobe, but that's good. He gets to feel Phil up three extra times a day, and assure himself each time that that gaping fucking wound has closed, that Phil's chest is now an expanse of soft pink, with the hair starting to come back at the edges. Clint traces those borders with gentle fingertips, and Phil shivers and sighs. The only really shit thing is that Nick can't deal even a little. He acts like even breathing on Phil's new scars is going to make them crack open and pour blood, and most of the time can barely even bring himself to look at them. Given how fucked up he is about his own scarring, it kind of makes sense, but that doesn't mean it doesn't suck.

Nick's issues lead to a lot of Clint And Phil Quality Time, but it's not worth it. That's a weird feeling to have, given how awesome it is to cuddle up with Phil and give him careful hand jobs while he presses little kisses to the sensitive borders between healthy skin and new scars, but it's true. It's just not the same without Nick.

"It is so weird how weird it is not to have a terrifying dude in a leather trench coat lurking by the bed," Clint says, his head resting on Phil's thigh in the wake of a long, leisurely blowjob, and Phil chuckles, stroking Clint's hair.

"I miss him too, sweetheart. He'll come around."

Clint purrs and nuzzles Phil's leg. If nothing breaks in two weeks, he's cleared for very, very, very careful fucking, and Clint really doesn't want Nick to miss a moment of it. "I say we give him a week and then start actively trying to lure him back."

"Sounds fair," Phil says, and tugs at Clint, who crawls up for hugs, resting his head on Phil's shoulder.

"Every damn time he's up for touching, some shit's gotta happen," Clint grumbles, and Phil laughs until he wheezes.

Over the next week, Clint watches Nick. It really is touching, the way he's always at Phil's elbow, always ready to help and to give him lots of chaste kisses that make Clint a little jealous. On about day three, Nick relents and starts letting Clint in on that action again, and Clint actually holds his hands behind his back, very careful not to overstep anything.

"You really are a sweet kid," Fury murmurs as he pulls away, and Clint grins at him.

"Mama always said so, sir," he chirps, and Fury chuckles, resting his forehead against Clint's and putting that heavy leather glove on the back of his neck, which makes him shiver and bite his lip, tightening his grip on his own hands.

"I can never believe how hot you are for me," Fury says, like he really doesn't get it, and Clint laughs, breathier than he was expecting.

"It's kinda hard to explain," he admits, and whimpers as Fury shifts his grip to cradle the back of his head, pulling him in to kiss him again. Clint's nails dig into his skin and he groans when Fury's tongue slips into his mouth. Clint lets him control the depth and the soft, slow strokes, trembling with the effort not to lean into Fury.

"Fffuck, sir..." Clint breathes, and Fury sighs, squeezing his shoulders and sliding his hands down Clint's arms to his hands, gently untangling them from each other.

"Jesus, Barton," he mutters, and guides Clint in against his chest, letting him slip his hands inside the coat and wrap his arms around his waist. Clint sighs happily, snuggling in against Fury's chest and nuzzling his neck, breathing in his scent and feeling his heartbeat and realizing just how much he misses this when it's away. Fury rubs his back in slow circles, and makes a quiet sound of pained amusement at the way Clint clings to him. "Baby..."

"So I guess I missed touching you a lot," Clint mumbles. "You should totally come back to bed with us."

Fury sighs. "I should." He kisses Clint's cheek. "I'll be there tonight, okay?"

"Okay," Clint says, and they stand there like idiots until the kitchen timer goes off and Fury has to go check on dinner. Clint takes a deep breath and then goes off to clean weapons and do paperwork until he's certain that he's calm again. He comes back to find Fury in full housewife mode, and Phil watching him fuss with the sweetest, saddest smile.

After everyone has eaten and Fury has done all the dishes and a pile of paperwork to settle his nerves, the three of them are in Phil's bedroom with intent in the first time in far too long. Fury is way back in the corner, covered in shadow, but at least he's there. Clint can feel the big, stupid smile on his face, but there's no way he can stop it. He helps Phil out of his clothes with such chirpy alacrity that Phil laughs at him, lounging back on the pillows and looking almost as delighted as Clint feels to have Fury back with them.

"You wanna direct the show, sir?" Clint asks, not looking at him. "Or you can leave it up to us if you want."

"Sing a few bars and I'll join in," hes says, and Clint chuckles.

"Well. These days I'm the blowjob queen. I'll be able to ride him soon, though. You looking forward to that? I'm looking forward to that." Phil smiles up at him, pulling him into a soft, slow kiss as Fury lets out a quiet snort of amusement. 

"Get to work, Barton."

"Yes, sir," Clint coos, and starts kissing his way down. 

He dawdles over Phil's chest, outlining his new scars in kisses, nibbling at the skin that can take it and licking the spots that can't. He has discovered a lot of new favorite spots as the nerves in Phil's chest and back settle again, and now he puts on as much of a show as he can over them, shivering happily as Phil moans and clutches at his hair and his shoulders, capable hands so clumsy now. Clint risks a glance up, and shivers happily to see Phil intensely eye-fucking Fury, his face flushed and his gaze locked. In another life, he'd be pissed, but as it is it sends a thrill across his whole body to watch their connection. It's like being caught in some kind of amazing intangible crossfire. He nibbles gently beside Phil's navel, and grins at the way he shivers and glances down.

"Hey," Clint says, and Phil chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling up as he runs his hand through Clint's hair.

"Hey. You having a good time teasing Nick?"

"You know it," Clint says, and nibbles on him a little more before sliding further down, settling into place. For a moment he just rests his cheek on Phil's thigh, enjoying the moment. He'll be delighted when the field opens up a bit more, but blowing Phil will never get old. He starts slow this time, nuzzling and lipping at Phil, savoring him and letting Fury get a nice, juicy look at everything. He keeps it slow and wet and deep as he can easily manage. He's into choking himself on Phil's cock, but now is not one of those times. As Clint finds his rhythm, Phil moans softly and pulses on his tongue, gasping out a running commentary for Fury. Clint can hear the leather of his coat shifting, and whimpers around Phil because if Fury is jerking off, he wants to see it. He says so when he pulls off to breathe, and Phil laughs, his eyes sparkling.

"Get me off and you can watch the rest," he says, and with a challenge like that, Clint has no choice but to swallow Phil all the way down and moan around him. The vibrations take him to within a breath of coming, and soon he's letting out that quiet, quavering cry that is one of Clint's favorite sounds in the entire universe, coming down Clint's throat.

"Too bad you were too deep for me to taste it," Clint rasps when he can talk again, and Fury makes this punched-out little noise that goes straight to Clint's cock. He turns his head to watch Fury, stretching out beside Phil and wrapping his hand around himself, the pleasure of one little squeeze almost painful. Fury's eye looks pretty wild, and his grip on his cock looks painful.

"You know what I wanna see, sir?" Clint drawls, rubbing his thumb over his slit.

"What?" Fury growls, tipping his head back and whimpering as his grip tightens.

"I really want to watch you use that huge fucking thing you had me on when Phil was out," Clint says, and Fury groans. Clint grins and speeds up his own strokes. "I bet you take it like a champ," he says, and Fury lets out a breathless laugh.

"There are times I need it," Fury growls, and Clint comes all over himself. It takes him by surprise, shaking him and leaving him breathless and a little stunned in Phil's arms, his hand still loosely gripping his cock.

"Fuck," Clint mutters, and Phil laughs, kissing his neck.

"Come on, Nick," Phil says softly. 

Fury lets out a helpless little whimper, so rough with himself that it hurts to watch. He catches on the edge for a short eternity, and then finally goes over, groaning and streaking his glove with white. Clint gives him a moment to catch his breath, and then reaches for him, making a happy little noise in his throat when Fury joins them on the bed, all three of them drifting down to sleep together for the first time in too long.


End file.
